


Eleven Months Later

by Nightfawkes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfawkes/pseuds/Nightfawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven months later, Cora turns to him and says, “Okay. It’s time.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eleven Months Later

**Author's Note:**

> Start writing again, they said. It'll be fun, they said. And you know what, they were right. Have a little Sterek ficlet as my reentry into fandom writing. Totally unbetad, so blame me.

Eleven months later, Cora turns to him and says, “Okay. It’s time.”

His first instinct is to deflect, deny. He wants to pretend he didn’t hear her, that he didn’t understand her, that she’s talking to someone else. But she would push it, he knows. He’s no alpha anymore, not that she made a habit of listening to him when he was, and they have both spent the last year working towards a parity of power that means he can’t just try to throw his will around. Cora isn’t afraid of conversation, of sinking her teeth into the things that Derek doesn’t want to touch, dragging them squirming into the bright light of dialogue, and eviscerating them. She skins them, pulls the insides out, toys with each and every word organ until they are wholly dissected and open to her understanding. Only then will she let them rest.

(When discussing possible destinations, Derek had once shuddered and said, “Absolutely not Chicago.” Cora, who was behind the wheel, had locked the doors and refused to let him out of the car for another five hours until he told her why. She’s ruthless – he really had to pee.) 

It’s good for him, she says, for both of them, to not be allowed to ignore things anymore, to have to face up themselves and each other. It’s not that they have to think the same way about things, but if Derek disagrees with her, they have to have a discussion. He has to give a _reason_. And if he tells her that the thought of going back to Beacon Hills makes his chest tight, makes his pulse pick up, makes his fingers white-knuckle around the steering wheel, then he’ll have to admit to himself that there’s a reason to give. Which there isn’t. Because why would there be? They’ve been gone for almost a year, and it’s fine. Obviously.

Cora thinks he’s getting better at dealing with things.  Derek thinks maybe he’s just not as brave as his little sister.

The thing is… Derek shifts in his seat. Thinks about stopping for snacks. Swallows. The thing is, it’s not that he doesn’t want to go back. The thing is that he does. Has wanted to, since about a week after they left. The thing is that he wouldn’t let himself think about it, but that didn’t stop the shape slowly firming in the back of his mind. The thing is the little stack of postcards in his bag, barely written on, never sent. The one that says, “Route 66. Motel cabins in the shape of traffic cones. What.” One that says, “Illinois. Nothing but corn for three days now. Corn.” One from the Florida Everglades that says “Werewolf vs alligator. 1-0.” The one from the Grand Canyon, the view that had made his lungs burn and his heart sing, and has a soft, frayed top left corner, from where Derek ran his thumb over it again and again and again. That one says, “Dear Stiles…” But there was nothing to say. What could he say? He talks to Cora now, all the time, talks and talks but never about the thing. Because it’s been almost a year, and he never sent a single postcard, and so there’s no reason to go back except the most important reason of all, but there’s no reason not to.

So Derek says nothing, simply nods, and takes the next road that points the car towards California.


End file.
